


escapism

by moreworldliness



Category: DreamSMP (Minecraft Series)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Derealization, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Alteration, Song Lyrics, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreworldliness/pseuds/moreworldliness
Summary: I'd rather beFree...From hereor: Ranboo goes through memories, a crisis, and Sam considers what his role is.
Relationships: Ranboo & Sam | Awesamdude
Kudos: 46





	escapism

**I guess I have to face**

**That in this awful place**

**I shouldn't show a trace of doubt**

  
  


The lanterns that hung themselves in the sky were cruel. They shone with the light of a heart that didn’t exist anymore, with the innocence of a boy that perhaps once was, instead of a boy that existed now. To those that observed them, hung in the night sky just below the obsidian grid that blocked out the sun, they illuminated small flickers of hope that didn’t exist otherwise; memories of L’Manburg, and a past that no-one but the builders of the lanterns were privy to.

Watching from just over the hill, Ranboo turned his back on the ruins of the place that had once invited him in and began to walk. In the dark, where his only light was the torches that he’d placed to mark a way he no longer remembered - perhaps the path had meant something to him, once upon a time. Perhaps it was a path that he’d walked recently, that had been flooded from his mind with instructions that he could no longer recall. Perhaps the path of torches meant nothing at all.

That was the more likely option.

He could cast his mind back a few days now, improvements he’d been making with Puffy to clear away some mental debris. He used his memory book less, the ink stains usually prominent on his red tie clearing up similarly, his usually full mind shockingly empty. Every memory was starting to become compartmentalized properly, stored in short-term memory for at least a small time before fading completely.

Sam had congratulated him, as had Techno and Phil; Tubbo had gently led the other along, chattering about this and that as they trekked through the snow, talking about all the things that he could tell Ranboo about now that his mind was less foggy. Even people that Ranboo had never spoken to before - or at least, he thought he’d never spoken to - started to smile at him, and wave.

Ranboo hated it.

As backwards as it was, he’d gotten used to the small, obsidian roadblock in his head - to the all-encompassing haziness that carried with it. To all the pain that swirled around his heart, all the things he didn’t know. And in a way, he’d gotten used to how surprising everything used to be - discovering and rediscovering again the smell of bread in the air on Saturday mornings, telling him that it was indeed Saturday; finding new paths to travel that he’d marked out for himself, like a small, uncertain treasure hunt.

Puffy had told him thinking like that was nothing more than him wanting to be a kid again - trying to find joy in the bleakest of situations. She’d said that his memory improving was a good thing. Perhaps she was right. Ranboo didn’t know - at least that was a constant.

But Ranboo had never been a child. He’d never looked in a pool of water with a smile on his face, thinking about what it was like to be like a grown-up he’d never known. He’d never played with others his age, or celebrated birthdays, or gotten confused on why height was a measure of age. He’d never had the joy that others had, never found the sense of self to ask why, either.

Perhaps Puffy was right. Perhaps Sam was right. Perhaps Phil was right.

He didn’t know.

Ranboo continued following the torches.

  
  


**But pulled against the grain**

**I feel a little pain**

**That I would rather do without**

  
  


Spools of light unravelled his shadow as the torches lead him into a field near Sam’s house, scattered in random patterns used to create just enough light to see by. Temporary, or at least, they were meant to be. He’d been here before - remnants of feathers from failed quills laying scattered about, leatherbound pages that didn’t add up to much, empty pages stained with a dark substance he told himself was ink. Had Ranboo actually placed these here? Had he actually been here before? None of these books seemed familiar.

The lanterns were still visible from over the hill, their warmth glaring holes into the back of his cold suit. It was an item of clothing that he’d always worn, one that tied his arms behind his back and pushed him under the cold water of midnight. He hated those lanterns, but could never seem to escape their watchful eye - the eye of L’Manburg, and all those that lived in it previously. The eye of those that destroyed it.

Dream.

Ranboo shook his head, and bent down to pick up the broken spines of books and their scattered pages - blank, stained, burnt, water-damaged; these books had been through hell and back, with nothing to show of it. The emptiness was comforting, his memory laid bare in just a few broken books. There were only a few pages that actually showed anything, but he couldn’t be sure  _ what _ . 

‘⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀’.

‘⋏⍜⏁ ⎎⍀⟒⟒ ⊬⟒⏁’.

‘⌇⟒⍀⎐⏃⋏⏁ ⏚⍜⊬’.

‘⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⎅⟟⎅ ⊬⍜⎍ ☌⍜ ⌰⟒⏃⎐⟒ ⋔⟒ ⏃⌰⍜⋏⟒’.

Vague nonsense; illegible chicken scratch. A feeling gnawed away at his mind as he traced over the symbols with his fingers, a door opening and shutting from somewhere, not loud enough to disturb the wind’s whistling as it peered over Ranboo’s shoulder. Paranoia dug into his sides, eyes flicking around for a few seconds to ensure that he was truly alone.

From the distance, a figure came into view, observing the pile of books at his feet, and his hunched stature. Hbomb had chastised him several times for doing that - that his posture would be just fine if he didn’t spend so much of his time standing in corners - but Ranboo had paid little mind. It was less scary seeing his reflection that way, less scary seeing his shadow creeping up on him. The figure traced their eyes over Ranboo, and a cold chill ran down his spine, the green of the other’s outfit knocking the wind out of his already tight chest.

The lanterns peered. There was a brief moment of silence, and Ranboo turned on his heel, ink grabbing at his heels as he left before the figure could approach, or call out.

He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget.

  
  


**I'd rather be...**

**Free-ee-ee**

**Free-ee-ee**

**Free…**

  
  


The figure approached where Ranboo had been, trident in one hand and a small loaf of bread in the other. He had no intention of chasing Ranboo, not when the other had left like that. The indentations of his feet were still left in the dewy grass, a rainstorm having settled just a few minutes before. Had Ranboo been out walking in it? The sky was clear now, but the downpour had been torrential.

Sodden tattered pages barely held themselves together as he placed his trident by his hip, looking over what he could. Nothing important, nothing interesting - nothing at all. He wasn’t sure what would’ve been more unnerving; seeing something written in pages like these, and watching Ranboo making such a swift exit, or seeing nothing written in them at all. Who had left these torches here? How were they still lit?

Too many questions.

Perhaps Sam needed to go after Ranboo after all. He didn’t know.

Thunder struck in the distance. It’d start raining again soon.

Perhaps he could bring Ranboo inside and talk to him.

Hopefully, it’d be raining somewhere else first.

  
  


**Free...**

**From here**

**Author's Note:**

> here, translations for the alien language!  
> 1 - " remember "   
> 2 - " not free yet "  
> 3 - " servant boy "  
> 4 - " where did you go / leave me alone "
> 
> have fun and stay safe, all!   
> :)


End file.
